Walking Wounded
by anxxxi3ty
Summary: Daryl meets another survivor in the woods. Romance ensues. Daryl/OFC.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first piece. I started with something pretty basic so hopefully it's not boring. It'll get smutty later. Constructive criticism encouraged.**

**Daryl**

The woods were quiet, peaceful. Daryl stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. Looking up at the sky, breathing the smells of the trees, he could almost imagine nothing had changed. These weren't the same woods he'd grown up wandering in, but that blue Georgia sky was the same. He always felt better out in open air. Ceilings always suffocated him and walls trapped him in.

The group seemed to feel better hidden away from the world. They tried to make things what they were. They spent so much time acting like they were before, forcing the old world onto the new. Daryl felt more estranged from his life before in their games than when he was fighting walkers. He'd always struggled to survive. Now, at least, he knew his enemy.

The rustle of leaves snapped him from his brief reverie. Raising his crossbow, he slowed his footfalls until they were almost He scanned the trees and saw a flicker of movement. A bare arm slipped out of view behind a tree. _Walker._

He slowly shifted to his left, and as his vision became unobstructed he saw the figure bending over. Its hands moved in front of it, out of sight again. Had it found a carcass? Daryl edged closer, putting weight on the outsides of his feet and rolling them in with each step. Using that same tree, he concealed himself to get a closer look. He'd just glimpsed white panties peeking out over leather-belted jeans when he was thrown to the ground.

It felt like a bull had charged him, a bull with teeth that tore into his forearm. A tremendous weight pinned him to the ground. A snarling mouth was inches from his face. He saw bright white teeth dripping blood, his blood. The mouth snapped and snarled and he saw the sharp canines. This monster was a dog.

"MICKEY!" a girl's voice yelled.

Suddenly, the weight was lifted. One hundred or more pounds of blue nose pit bull bounded back to the figure he'd glimpsed. At first, he thought she was a boy. She was small, though that beast would make anyone look little. Her light brown hair was shaggy and short, and she wore a black tank top and torn jeans tucked into massive hiking boots. She carried a canvas bag and only an axe to defend herself.

"Shut up!" Daryl hissed. "We ain't the only ones out here!"

"He got your arm," she said in a low voice with a distinct lack of southern accent. "I'm sorry, he's very protective."

"It's shallow," he replied. "He ain't rabid?"

"No," she smiled, "he's a good boy." She scratched the demon on the head. The gesture was affectionate, but the dog's bared teeth and the raised hair on his back proved he wasn't feeling as friendly as his owner.

"I'm Abby," she continued, inching closer as gingerly as Daryl had approached. "Let me see it."

He drew back. "I'm fine. You all alone?"

"I got Mickey here. You?" She gestured to the dead squirrels hung on his belt. "Looks like you got food for more than one."

"There's a group of us, about 5 miles back. I was about to head back before it gets dark."

"Don't be stupid. You shouldn't be walking around with an open wound. You don't jump in the ocean when you're bleeding, do you?"

"I've never been to the ocean."

She looked at him in disbelief, but didn't question it. "It attracts sharks. And you don't need any more jaws biting you today. Come back to my camp. I'll do something for your arm."

"How do you know you can trust me? Little thing like you should be more careful."

"I don't trust you. But I trust you won't fuck with me unless you liked getting mauled."


	2. Chapter 2

**I have a few more chapters already written but I'm going to wait for at least one review before uploading in case a reader's opinion changes my mind.**

**Abby**

"Okay, Mickey. Lead us home."

The man followed at a distance. He was eerily quiet as they followed Mickey's wagging tail. No wonder she hadn't heard him sneak up behind her.

In the following ten minutes of dead silence, Abby struggled to find words to start a conversation. She'd never been very outgoing except to get what she wanted. But this man was the first living person she'd seen in a long time, and she suddenly felt desperate for small talk.

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out one of the mushrooms she'd scavenged. "Do you know if these are poisonous?" She offered it to him.

She was surprised when his face broke into a silly grin.

"No, those ain't poisonous. They do have this way of makin' you see shit that ain't real though."

She dropped the mushroom and laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Well I'm sure glad I asked. I have an edible plants guide at my place, but these probably wouldn't be in it." She sighed and dumped out her bag. Another hungry night. Abby wasn't sure how much longer she could live on the stash from her last raid. Mickey's dog food was looking more enticing by the day.

"Before..." The man started, but paused. "Not too long ago, those would have made a fun time."

It was well into the afternoon when they reached her car. It was parked off a dirt road that snaked its way back to the graveyard of a highway.

Suddenly, Abby remembered the twine she'd hung between the top of her Ford and a sapling. The twine from which hung every pair of underwear she owned except the one she was wearing. Blushing, she ran to gather them up. They were still damp; clothes didn't dry much in this humidity. She looked up to see a quick flash of his grin again. She opened the trunk, pulled out her laundry bag, and furiously stuffed them in. Opening the trunk, she beckoned the man over.

"I have a first aid kit and some other supplies. Let me bandage you up."

As she cleaned and wrapped his arm, she couldn't help but notice the way his muscles felt under her hands. When she rubbed an alcohol swabbed over the wound, he tensed, and his bicep bulged. His shirt looked like it had once been a plaid button down, but with the dirt, holes, torn off sleeves it looked more like a rag. Once, she stole a glance at his face. She was startled at the intensity of his bright blue eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**I know I said I'd wait for a review, but I have two followers! I'm so excited. I hate waiting for new content (I binge-watched the whole series on Netflix) so here's the next chapter. It's short. Also, I don't have a beta so I proofread the best I can. Please excuse typos and comma errors.**

**Daryl**

By the time the girl had finished her terrible attempt at treating his bite, Daryl knew it was getting too late to walk back to camp. He was getting hungry, and the beast was eyeing the squirrels he'd hung on her clothesline.

Seeming to read his thoughts, Abby stopped fussing at his arm and said, "I think it's too late for you to head back. You're welcome to stay here, but I can't offer you much food."

"I think we've got food covered," he replied. Staying the night didn't seem like a good idea, but it was smarter than making his way back to his own campsite. And some part of him, some part that was very bad at making good decisions, wanted to stay.

He almost laughed at the face she made when he began to skin the squirrels. Her pet monster was watching him very intently, licking his sharp teeth. Abby pointed out her pile of firewood and grabbed a 5-gallon water jug.

"I'm gonna go grab some water. My filter broke, so I've been boiling it. You'll make a better fire than I can, and I'm not gonna miss the opportunity. Mickey!" Before he could protest, she was out of the clearing, walking down the hill and away from the road, swinging her axe as she went. The pit bull loped after.

Daryl tried to focus on preparing the squirrels. This girl, she wasn't even that good-looking. Her short hair made her look like a dyke and she was too skinny to have any curves to her. When she'd pulled her 4 pairs of white panties down off the line, he noticed a crop of black hair under her armpits.

Something about her, though.

_Fuckin' apocolypse is cock blockin' you. It's been ages since you had a lay, that's all._

She was too young. It was hard to tell her age, but he'd guess 16 or 17. Everyone looked years older since the dead started walking, but she acted like she didn't know the danger she was in. He guessed she thought her dog would protect her. Maybe the thing did, it was the only explanation of how she lasted so long.

But when she came struggling back up the hill with the container, Daryl wasn't thinking about her age. Both Abby and the animal were soaking wet. She was leaning over from the weight of the water and he could see down her shirt to the small perky breasts swaying with her steps. He'd wondered why there weren't any bras hanging…

**NOTES: Abby is over 18. "Dyke" is a word that can be offensive to the LGBTQ+ community. I do not approve its usage in a derogatory way, but I imagine it's the word Daryl would use. Also, while I'm doing disclaimers, pit bulls are loving, gentle, loyal dogs. They very rarely show aggression toward humans, except in defense of their owners. I had a blue-brindle named Lily who adored babies and kids and loved to cuddle with my friend's foster kittens. They are great dogs.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Still waiting on a review...guess people are stingy with their opinions. I start school tomorrow so I may post less frequently.**

**Abby**

When she arrived back at camp, the man was fiddling with the small pile of firewood she'd gathered earlier that day. The skinned and gutted squirrels were piled on the rocks around her fire pit, the entrails in Mickey's food bowl.

Satisfied with the teepee of small sticks, he stood to hang the skins on the clothesline. He was avoiding eye contact.

"D'ya have a lighter?" he said to the squirrel skins and the woods beyond the clearing.

"Yeah, and lighter fluid. I'm awful at making fires."

He turned and met her eyes for a second, then looked over at Mickey who was loudly slurping up squirrel guts. "Guess he accepts my peace offering. Save your lighter fluid. Got any paper?"

"Toilet paper. But I'm not burning that. I'll grab you the stuff and then I'm gonna change." Abby climbed in her SUV, found her fire supplies and handed them to the man. Then she grabbed clean clothes and walked behind the car, hopefully out of sight. She heard the lighter click.

After squirming into her damp underwear, she threw on her sweats and a shirt. She hung her wet clothes on the line, carefully avoiding the squirrels. By the time she rejoined her new companion he had the fire roaring. He was trying to construct a spit but couldn't find the right sticks. Abby grabbed him some extra twine and soon they were watching the squirrels cook. She didn't like the way he'd strung the little creatures up. They look like they were clinging to the stick for dear life while the flames licked their backs.

Mickey started eying the extras so she got up to fill his bowl with kibble. She returned determined to have a conversation.

"You haven't told me your name, you know."

"Daryl." It was more like a grunt than an answer.

"Of course it is."

"The hell's that s'posed to mean?" Daryl's tone was angry, but she doubted he was serious.

"Oh nothing, it's a lovely name. So…what does squirrel taste like?"

"Better than rat. Worse than rabbit. This ain't the best way to cook 'em." The carcasses looked close to done, but they looked just as unappetizing as they did raw. Still, the smell of meat was almost intoxicating.

"Did you hunt a lot, before?"

"Had to eat." Her attempts at starting a conversation were interrupted by a deep growl. It was getting dark but she could see Mickey, his whole body tense, squaring off with a Corpse.

Abby reached for her axe, but before she could raise it an arrow embedded itself in the Corpse's forehead. It crumpled. Mickey sniffed at it tentatively, then trotted over to rest his massive head in her lap.

"Damn!" Daryl said as he lifted the charred squirrels off the spit. "They're overdone. Squirrel's dry even when it's not burnt. Better get that water."

Abby struggled to lift Mickey's head as she got up to get the pot and some plates. She poured some in the water bowl and returned to the fire. Daryl was shoving two more squirrels on the long, blackened stick, but pulled them off when he saw the pot.

"Girl, why didn't you say you had a pot? You gotta try squirrel stew. It's almost good. Fancy eatin' compared to spit roasted."

She filled it half way and handed it over.

"Sorry, didn't think. I don't have anything else to put in it though."

"'S fine. What were you gonna eat?" He dropped the last three squirrels in the pot.

"Actually, I pretty much ran out of food last night. That's why I was gonna try to eat those 'shrooms."

He looked at her incredulously. "How the hell did you even survive this long?!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Daryl**

As the fire crackled and the beast snored, they dug into their squirrels. He began to eat his with an attempt at manners, but stopped when he saw the savage way Abby was devouring hers. Their eyes met and she slowed, embarrassed.

"Would you believe I used to be vegan?" She smiled and wiped her mouth.

"Dunno what the fuck that is. Like you only ate veggies?"

"Pretty much. I don't have the luxury of limiting my diet anymore. Thanks again for dinner."

"Mmph," he replied through a mouthful of rodent.

They finished their snack in silence. It didn't take long. Squirrels were small and these were leaner than most.

"What's your group like?" she asked.

"Two cops, 3 other men, 3 women, and a little boy. Then there's the people whose farm it is."

"A kid?"

"Yeah, he's tough though. His dad's one of the cops. He has his mom too. They're all close. They keep each other safe."

"So why are you out here alone?"

Daryl leaned over the pot to check the stew. It needed more time. That meant more conversation. _Damn._

"I'm the best hunter. And I like being alone."

"Sorry, I guess I ruined that."

Daryl shrugged as an answer. He didn't mind her company. He wished he hadn't seen her breasts, however. Her nipples were small and dark, and the image of them kept popping up in his mind.

"You didn't tell me how you stayed alive. Your animal can't protect you from swarms and I bet you can't handle that axe."

"_Mickey _doesn't fight Corpses. And I don't either, if I can avoid it. He growls when they're close and we leave."

"Corpses. That what you call them?"

"Yeah," Abby said. "What do you call them?"

"Walkers."

She grimaced. "That's very…literal."

"What do you call dead bodies, then?"

"People." She replied and the conversation died for a while.

"So you've just been runnin' since the outbreak?" He said, breaking the awkward silence.

"It's a longish story."

"Pot's not half boiled yet. We got time. Hell, maybe you could teach me something about survival."

"Doubtful. Well, I grew up in San Francisco. Pacific Heights. My parents were both rich; my mom came from oil money and my dad did something in finance. Never cared enough to find out what. I had an older sister. She went to Stanford and my parents were so proud."

Daryl didn't know where Pacific Heights was, and he thought Stanford was a college but wasn't sure. He didn't ask.

"They weren't so proud of me, though," she continued. "I was a rebellious kid. Too much money and not enough supervision. I ran away for the first time at 14. Made it all the way to San Jose and stayed in a hotel. I came home the next day because I was out of money. Blew it all on room service and drugs." She paused and chuckled.

"Anyway, finally they started noticing how wild I was. And I was pretty crazy. They couldn't keep me in school or at home. It got so bad they used to lock me in my room at night and search me for drugs when I'd come home from school. When I was fifteen they sent me to an RTC in Utah."

When she saw the blank look on his face, she added, "Residential Treatment Center. Basically a psychiatric hospital only more expensive and less effective. I was the most normal girl there, but when you spend 13 months with cleptos and anorexics and cutters and crazy Mormon nurses, you forget what normal is like. They labeled me with depression and oppositional defiance and even Borderline Personality Disorder. They had my parents so brainwashed. They sent me to a wilderness therapy program afterward. I'd been stuck in jail for bratty teenage girls for over a year and they just scoop me up and drop me in the middle of the Appalachians and told me to find my spirit animal. I'm grateful though, without it I couldn't survive out here."

She paused for breath, and seemed to search his face for a reaction. He gave none, and she continued.

"After Blue Ridge, I went to boarding school in Montana. Out there, when you were bad, you had to chop wood. I was bad a lot. That's how I learned to use this." She raised her axe.

"I turned 18 in Montana and left. My parents cut me off at the suggestion of my therapist to try to get me to go back. I never did. I hitchhiked to Helena and made my parents buy me a plane ticket home. I'm not proud of any of this, by the way." She looked at him again. He could tell she was uncomfortable with how much she was sharing, but she pressed on with her story. _She's at least eighteen,_ came a thought that originated below his belt. _Not as young as you thought. _The image of her breasts resurfaced and he pushed it down, trying to listen.

"Then it was in and out of rehabs and psych wards and even jail for a bit until the outbreak. I was actually in treatment when it all went to shit. I don't know what's wrong with me. I get this tight feeling in my chest and I just have to get out of wherever I am. I used to do that with drugs and running away and stupid adrenaline junkie stuff. You know it's funny, I feel more comfortable in this world than the last. I couldn't find my place before. Now that doesn't matter. Do you know what I mean?"

Daryl looked straight into her eyes.

"I do."

**NOTES: Abby's views on mental illness are her own fictional opinion, which has been shaped by her own fictional experience. I have the upmost respect for people suffering from the disorders she mentions. Also, a high percentage of workers in the therapeutic field are members of the LDS community. Abby resents them, but I mean no disrespect to anyone working in those facilities or of that faith.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I got a review! I wish it hadn't been anonymous so I could thank whoever it was personally. Thanks, whoever you are! Here's the next chapter.**

**Abby**

The stew was ready, and Abby was grateful for the interruption. She wasn't sure why she'd opened up like that. Maybe it was all the times she'd had to tell her story when she got to a new facility. Maybe it was his calm, impassive face. Most likely, she just wanted someone to talk to.

She only had one mug and a steel thermos. They scooped stew into them and drank it, slurping down the chunks of meat. It was unbelievably good. The charred, dry, stringy flesh of the first squirrel tasted like an entirely different animal.

"This is great! It's like, gourmet redneck cuisine."

Daryl gave her a look, but continued sipping from the thermos.

"How did you learn how to do this?" she asked.

"Like I said, had to eat."

Abby looked down, unable to meet his eyes. She'd learned early on that the privileged often forgot that they were. She hoped he hadn't been offended by the redneck comment. He'd shared his food with her and she'd mocked him for it.

"Well…I have a surprise for you when you're done."

"Oh yeah? What is it?"

"A _surprise._ A thank you, for dinner and listening to me ramble about myself. For someone who's spent months talking to herself, it's nice to have a listener who can like, understand you. Mickey only understands his name and 'dinner.'"

"Important words to know." She smiled at his reply.

"Yeah. These days, they really are."

When the stew was done, they stored the rest in the thermos and washed out the pot. Daryl filled it with water to boil and she walked back to her car.

"I'm gonna get ready for bed while the fire's still lit," she said over her shoulder.

It was completely dark already. Time had flown. In treatment and rehab, she'd learned how to cope with boredom. Six months could go by and she'd barely notice. Out here, however, when each moment could be her last, every minute crawled by. It was nice to lose track, even if it meant getting a late start on her nightly routine.

She washed out her mug and filled it with the water in the pot. Then she brushed her teeth and tried to wash the smoke and squirrel off her face.

Abby turned around to see Daryl, shirtless, washing his face and hands. Warm firelight glistened off his wet skin. He had a good body, lean and strong. He was…_sexy._ When was the last time she'd even thought that of anyone? But there wasn't any other word to describe him. She turned away, hoping he didn't catch her staring.

Returning to the car, she found the last two pudding cups, brought them back, and gave both to Daryl. He had put his shirt back on and had sat back down on the ground.

"Thanks." He smiled. His smiles were rare and she was glad she'd caused one. "But here, one's for you," he asserted, handing one back to her.

"Oh god no," she replied, pushing it back. "I'll never eat another one of those for the rest of my short life." She took the pot off the fire and extinguished it with water from the jug.

He watched her, eating his pudding with a spoon he'd made from the foil top.

"How's your surprise?" she asked.

"It's great. What did you call it? Gourmet redneck cuisine?"

"Sorry for that. I'm grateful for any calories, no matter their social group."

"Well us _country folk_ ain't offended. We didn't grow up havin' a private chef." Abby blushed at his joke. Lisette had been more of a friend than their cook, but her parents still paid her to make their meals.

She decided to change the subject. "I only have one sleeping bag, but we could share it I guess. I have blankets too."

Daryl's calm left him. She felt, rather than saw him tense and heard him set down his pudding. Perhaps she shouldn't have changed topics.

"I can sleep outside," he said, in a strained voice.

"I'd rather you be in the car, if you don't mind. If Corpses come I want you close. You can do more damage with your crossbow than Mickey and I combined, and you can do it at a distance. There's plenty of room, and I don't snore."

Daryl still looked uneasy.

"Please?" Abby added. It was reasonable. He'd known he was spending the night; where did he expect to sleep? Sleeping out in the open was dangerous. There was no way he could tell how excited she was to share a bed with a person. She just seemed concerned with her safety, not desperate for the warmth of a human lying next to her. He couldn't know, could he?


	7. Chapter 7

**For all the freaks out there like me, after this there's only one chapter left after this before the good stuff:)**

**Daryl**

What was this girl doing? She was so reckless. Inviting him back to her campsite was dangerous enough. He assumed she hadn't seen many other people since the outbreak. Abby had grown up in a bubble, protected by her rich parents. She couldn't know how horrible people could be. Now she wanted him to sleep next to her? Was she a masochist? Or did she just want to use him for protection? Either way, he couldn't refuse her plea. She _would_ be safer with him close. And the car could help them get away if things got bad.

He should refuse; insist on sleeping in the driver's seat. But he'd glimpsed a mattress in the back of her SUV, and that was alluring. Daryl tried to convince himself that was his only incentive. This girl would learn how cruel the world was, but not from him.

He nodded, but made sure his face showed his displeasure. She smiled in return. There was something almost flirtatious about it, but he couldn't be sure. Perhaps he was seeing what he wanted to see. That mutinous part of him pushed his memory of her chest back into his mind and he could feel his cock stiffen ever so slightly.

"I'm gonna pee," she said and began walking towards the edge of the clearing, grabbing her axe on the way.

Daryl let her go. He didn't want her out there alone, but he wasn't going to insist on accompanying her. When she was out of sight, he turned and relieved himself as well.

He was shaking off the last droplets when he heard her scream.

The dog jumped to its feet and bounded into the woods, following the sounds of the struggle and the snarls of the walker. Daryl quickly tucked himself back into his jeans and followed, unsheathing his hunting knife.

The walker had her pinned and she had a knee in his chest and was trying to hold back skeletal hands. The walker had been a woman, but was much bigger than Abby. The dog charged, using his thick head to knock the walker off her. Abby sprung to her feet and looked around for her axe, but it was clearly too dark.

"Don't bite, Mickey!" She said, frantically backing away.

The dog was barking, pushing the walker back with his body and avoiding her clawing hands. Even without Abby's command, he seemed to know not to bite. Daryl didn't know if animals could turn, but with a creature like that, he was glad the dog didn't risk it.

He ran forward, dodging a flailing arm that was missing most of its flesh. He plunged his knife into the eye socket of the walker, turning his face at the last second to avoid the spray of blood. The walker crumpled and lay unmoving.

He could hear Abby's rabid breathing and the continued snarls of the pit bull. He turned to see her pressed against the tree, her sweatpants pulled only halfway up.

She met his gaze and pulled her pants back up to her waist and tied the strings to secure them there.

"Thanks," she said, her eyes still wide with terror. "I'm usually more careful, but I wasn't thinking straight."

"Do you have a flashlight?" he asked.

"Yeah, in the car."

They made their way back. Abby said nothing, and her breathing was no longer audible, but he thought he could sense her shaking. The woods were dark, but the half moon gave enough light to find their way.

Back at the car, she opened the passenger door and pulled a flashlight from a toolbox. She offered it and he shined it on her face, neck and arms.

"I wasn't bit," she said, looking slightly offended.

"You might have been scratched," he said, continuing his examination. "Turn around."

She did and he scanned her exposed skin, his heart in his throat. He had been right, and she was still shaking.

"You're clean," he said and turned off the flashlight and handed it back.

"Thank you," she said in the darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey everyone, I just went through a pretty rough breakup so I haven't felt like writing a romance recently. Hopefully people are still interested. I'll try to post a few more chapters this week if I find the time to write them.**

**Abby**

"I'll get rid of the bodies in the morning," Daryl said as they walked back to the trunk.

"Do you have the lighter?" she replied. Abby was trying to will her hands to stop shaking. They were being disobedient. When he handed it over, she lit the candles she'd placed in the cup-holders. A wall of scents hit them. She'd tried to scavenge ones that didn't conflict, but they were all so strong. Many nights she wished she hadn't picked the vanilla or cinnamon apple scents; they made her dream of foods she might never taste again.

"You trying to burn up your car?" Daryl asked, hanging back. She sat down on the thin foam pad that covered the back of the SUV.

"It's for light. Also, I think it masks the smell of me and Mickey from the Corpses."

He was peering into her makeshift home. She wondered what he thought of it. When she stole the car, the back seats were already out and it didn't take long to figure out how to fold the first row. Every inch not covered by the mattress was filled with supplies. Did he think she was a slob? She had two pillows and an extra blanket in addition to the sleeping bag. She hoped that would be enough.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it with the long neck lighter. He looked at her, utterly shocked.

"Mickey!" she called, softly enough to not attract more company. He bounded up and launched himself into the bed, settling by the plastic bins. She held out the half-empty pack to Daryl, who was still staring.

"Want one?" she asked.

Wordless, he took the offered cigarette and lit it, still looking surprised. The look vanished when he took a drag.

"Aw fuck," he said, spitting over his shoulder. "Menthols? Really?"

She laughed. The interaction was so normal, so natural. Abby had always taken shit for smoking from non-smokers, and for smoking menthols from people who smoked.

"Feel free to light up your own."

She glanced down to his pockets to see if he had the tell-tale rectangle poking through jeans. Instead, her eyes fell on a gun. How had she not noticed that before?

"You have a gun," she said.

"Yes I do," he said, grimacing at his second drag.

"Know how to use it?" she asked, knowing the answer was probably yes. Guns scared her, and people who carried them scared her more.

"Yes I do," he repeated. "Dunno how you're still alive without one. How many walkers have you fought off with your axe?"

"I'm tired of telling my story." She said, puffing on her own cigarette.

"You never got to the part where you didn't get eaten."

"Fine," she said. He was easy to talk to, even if he didn't say much. "Like I said, I was in treatment when the outbreak happened. No TV, no phone, no internet. The nurses barely told us anything, just that there was a disease that was spreading. I thought it was like, another swine flu. Then the staff stopped showing up. My roommate, Eliza, she was suicidal. They had her on 24-hour watch. When no one showed up, she hung herself. We found her, strung up by an extension cord, and she'd turned."

"She got bit?" Daryl interrupted.

"Dunno. Didn't check. Took us a while to figure out how to kill them. Everyone else went straight for the medications and food, but I grabbed the camping gear and jumped on one of our equine-therapy horses. Rode into town for help."

"You find any?"

"Nah. It was deserted. I guess people got out of the small towns quickly, looked for help in bigger cities."

"They didn't find any. We were in Atlanta awhile and it was overrun."

"Damn." She'd flown into Atlanta for her last stint in in-patient recovery. Abby didn't want to imagine the streets crawling with Corpses.

"So how'd you get your dog? Did you have him at your therapy place?"

"Residential treatment center. And this was just a fancy rehab. No, and he's not my dog. If anything, I'm his human."

"Dunno what that's s'posed to mean. Where'd he come from, then?"

"When I got to town, I was just riding around until I got swarmed. I escaped to the animal shelter. I knew how to get in 'cause they'd let us volunteer there. When I got in, the dogs that were still alive were starving so I let them out. I didn't think…they were so sweet when I knew them. They attacked Henry." She shuddered at the memory, but saw Daryl's confused face and added, "The horse was Henry. He was my favorite. The place was secure, lots of high chain-link fences. I decided to sleep in the main office. I cut off all my hair with the secretary's scissors. Late that night, I heard scratching at the door. I looked through the window and saw Mickey. I let him in, and we've been together ever since."


	9. Chapter 9

**Daryl**

Her story seemed believable enough. Daryl thought she might be leaving out some parts. She had to have killed more than a few walkers to survive. He wasn't going to push it. She'd told him so much already, and he'd hardly said a word. Her life was far from perfect, but at least it was exciting. The way she'd looked at him when he admitted he'd never been to the ocean…

Abby's confidence was clearly a front, however. She was sucking on her cigarette like a calf on a teat and she still looked shaken. Daryl thought about reaching out and touching her lightly on the arm, but decided not to. She didn't know him and he didn't know her. He should keep his distance.

She snuffed out her cigarette and looked at him. He did the same. She was a silhouette against the light of the candles, but he thought she was searching his face again. Daryl was good at concealing his emotions, but this girl seemed determined to figure him out.

"I guess we should get some sleep," she said and scooted back. She pushed the dog gently off a sleeping bag and unzipped it all the way so that it became a blanket. Daryl watched her, unsure of what to do.

Abby made up the bed, forcing a grumpy pit bull to curl up on the edge. She crawled under the sleeping bag next to the dog and looked at him expectantly. Daryl felt extremely uncomfortable.

"Here," he said and handed over the belt that held his knife and gun. "Set those up on those bins. Don't like to sleep far from 'em." She did as he said, eying the gun with distrust. He set his crossbow on the ground under the tailgate.

"Um…your jeans are filthy," she said. "Would you mind…"

He looked at her. This girl was insane. "Fine," he said and began to unbutton his pants.

Abby seemed flustered. "Hold on," she said and blew out the candles. Daryl fumbled with his clothes and shoved them in the corner as he climbed in beside her. She leaned forward and closed the trunk. Silence and darkness surrounded them. After a few minutes of silence, the dog's rumbling snore began.

"Sorry, I forgot to mention that Mickey snores when I told you I didn't." She nudged him and he got up to lie at their feet.

"Don't matter," Daryl said. He was concentrating very hard on not noticing how close they were. Even with the dog gone, they were practically touching. He felt as if she was charged with static electricity, his hair rising in her presence. They were both silent. Minutes stretched on, but his heartbeat stayed rapid.

Finally, when he thought she'd gone to sleep, he felt something moving under the covers. A small hand touched his lower leg and moved up his thigh. Was she doing this in her sleep? When the hand wrapped around his dick, he sat up straight.

"The fuck're you doin'?" He almost yelled it.

The hand recoiled and he heard her sharp intake of breath.

"Sorry," she said.

Daryl didn't know if he was mad or aroused. Either way, he was very frustrated.

"Really what the fuck was that?" His tone was almost too harsh, but he was overwhelmed. Had this been her plan all along? Is this why she asked him to say?

"Look," she said, sitting up to face him and talking quickly, "I haven't had sex in a really long time. I thought I saw you looking at me. I didn't know when I'd get the chance again and I just thought…"

"No." Daryl said, as his cock screamed in protest. He couldn't have sex with her. She was young; she didn't know what she wanted. He liked her and thought she was interesting, and yeah, maybe a little bit sexy, but he couldn't fuck her. What if he got attached and lost her? He saw the pain on others' faces when the ones they cared for were taken from them. He couldn't risk it.

"Do you have someone at the camp? Is that it?"

"No, just…just go to sleep." Daryl lay back down, feigning rest. His heart was racing faster than ever, and certain parts of him were begging him to change his mind.

"Are you gay?"

"NO! Do you call every guy that won't fuck you a faggot?"

"I have an IUD. I can't get pregnant for another year. It doesn't have to mean anything. I just want to feel good for once," she said, sliding closer. "We could die tomorrow," she whispered as she slid one leg over him. "Do you want to die with empty balls?" On that last word she lowered herself gently, lightly grinding her hips on top of him.

Daryl felt himself losing the battle. His reasons for rejecting her were sound, but the only thing holding him back now was his pride. He didn't want this to be on her terms. When he felt her removing her shirt, however, his resolve broke completely.


	10. Chapter 10

**A few words about sex: it can be beautiful, it can be loving, but it is never perfect. In this chapter I tried to make it real. Many of the sex scenes on this site read like the imaginings of virgins. If any of you have not had sex, I don't want to supply you with fantasy. For those who have, I hope you appreciate that I am not trying to deceive you. Love and trust grow over time, but lust is immediate and crude.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter, and happy Valentine's Day!**

**Abby**

She was shaking again, but from excitement rather than fear. He probably thought she was crazy, he'd barely said a word when she'd spilled her darkest secrets to him. For a long moment, Abby thought he'd reject her. She could feel his physical reaction through his boxers, but his voice was so cold and distant. She thought she even heard a hint of disgust. For her?

But when Daryl grabbed the short hair on the back of her neck and pulled her in, the only emotion she sensed in him was pure, unfiltered desire. She pulled him up by his shoulders, wrapping her legs around him and deepening their kiss. It wasn't loving, or even that passionate, just animalistic sexual urgency.

He rolled her over on her back, keeping their lips together. His kiss was fervent and rough, but almost chaste. She opened her mouth and gently stroked his bottom lip, inviting herself in to taste him. He let her, but wouldn't reciprocate. Again, she licked his lower lip and traced the upper. He allowed his tongue to slip into her mouth and she moaned softly, intentionally, encouraging him.

Daryl was easily encouraged. He jammed his tongue in, making her gasp. She was breathless, her hands urgent as they tangled in his hair. He was grinding on her now, his thrusts almost painful from his hardness. She pulled at his shirt, trying to pull it over his head, fumbling in the dark. He assisted, and used the break in their kissing to begin his assault on her neck. He licked and bit, almost too hard, as he made his way down to her chest. When he reached a nipple, she gasped again and dragged her nails down his back, hoping to convey her pleasure.

Her fingers felt something strange. Bands of scar tissue striped his back. They felt old, not something acquired since the world turned. He'd been facing her when he was shirtless, and she wondered what they looked like and what they were from.

Daryl realized where her fingers had stopped, and pulled away. Abby wished she could see his face. She could hear his breath, ragged and fast, and felt his muscles tense. She was about to say something, to ask or apologize she wasn't sure, when he grabbed her hands and slammed them behind her head. Then his fingers were pushing at her lips and she opened them. He was fingering her mouth! She almost gagged, but he pulled them out and she sputtered something unintelligible, even to her.

Then that hand, with its two wet fingers, was searching for the band of her underwear. He slipped it down and cupped her, pushing against without entering. A little squeal of pleasure burst from her. It sounded strange and girly to her ears, but seemed to arouse Daryl even more.

He began to stroke gently, rubbing from her opening to her clit, stimulating neither. Finally, she rocked her hips so that his fingers grazed the center of her pleasure and a high-pitched moan escaped her lips again.

"Quiet," he said softly, his voice think with lust.

Abby nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her. She had closed her eyes, concentrating entirely on what he was making her feel.

Daryl began to rub her again, making circles and responding to the involuntary movement of her hips. She was panting now, and he seemed to take that as a cue to go faster. He moved the tips of all his fingers back and forth, up and down, and as his pace increased Abby felt the tension build deep inside of her. His other hand still held her wrists so she dug her fingers into her palm, trying to stifle the scream that was rising. As she got closer, her body began to quake. It was almost too much. She whimpered, turning her head. His hand left her wrists to press over her mouth, hard.

When she came, he muffled her cries and then released her. The wave of pleasure receded and she grabbed his cock again, needing more.

He had softened a bit. She pulled down his boxers and guided him to her opening. Abby stroked her folds with him, letting him feel her wetness. Daryl was still, and she thought she could feel his eyes on her face in the dark. Carefully, she angled her hips upward, gently pressing herself around him. He pushed too, but slowly, letting her adjust. She felt a twinge of pain followed by a rush of pleasure that made her gasp. Determined, she grabbed his hips and pulled him in further, and the pain was barely noticeable. He leaned forward, burying himself completely while kissing the other side of her neck.

"Oh _fuck_," Abby tried to exclaim, but his lips covered hers, silencing her again. Her arms wrapped around his waist, deliberately avoiding his back. She moved him, pulling him in as she rolled her hips against his. Daryl quickly matched her rhythm and soon was going too fast for her to keep up. It was starting to hurt again now. He was going too hard and too deep. She didn't dare stop him, though. The pain didn't eclipse the beginnings of another climax.

He'd stopped kissing her neck and was focusing entirely on his movement. She could feel his furrowed brow on her shoulder, and a jaw clenched with concentration or pleasure, she didn't know. The feelings of the second orgasm began to dwindle. She adjusted herself under him, and a new angle brought more pleasure, but not enough.

Slowly, Daryl seemed to realize her enjoyment was receding. He sat up, placing his hands on her hips and lifting them up to meet his thrusts while lengthening the time between them. One hand moved to the top of her shoulder, pulling her closer as his movements increased their speed again. Suddenly, Abby felt herself racing towards ecstasy again, and it was only when the hand left her shoulder to clamp down over her mouth again that she realized she was moaning. She was paralyzed, every nerve in her body sparking with anticipation. Just when she thought she'd burst, he dropped her hips down and his fingers were on her clit as he gave a few more hard thrusts. Abby felt a warm explosion that washed over her whole body. When she recovered from her orgasm she felt him moving inside her for a little longer before he let out a small grunt and shuddered.

He slid out and off and Abby curled up, wrapping her arms around her chest and turning her back to him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Haven't proffered this at all - sorry for typos and the like! I wanted to get another chapter up as soon as I could. I'll edit it later. In response to a question from a reader, this does take place in Season 2.**

**Daryl**

Daryl lay awake, listening to the rumbling, snorting snores of the animal at his feet. Abby was still. He could not hear her breathing and didn't know if she was asleep. His body was relaxed; the tension of months of survival had receded for the moment, but his mind continued to race.

Sadly, that was likely the best sex he'd had. Abby's body was incredible. Her breasts were small, but round and firm. Her ass was a little too muscular for his liking, but he'd felt the strength of it and her thighs as they wrapped around him. She had the softest lips he'd ever felt. Even the mass of coarse hair between her legs aroused him. Despite her girlish looks, when she was naked she was a woman.

He'd had many women, usually the uglier sister or friend of whomever Merle could sweet-talk into spending a night (or a an hour) with him. Merle's successes weren't very attractive, and his leftovers were so unattractive that Daryl had to drink to the point that he was willing. Often, he had to drink so much that he was no longer able. In the months he was alone, he had less partners, but easier on the eyes and his liver.

When he was 15, there was a girl in his English class. Her name was Kelsey. She had the bleached-blonde hair and French manicure that admitted her to the "popular" crowd, and the matching football-playing boyfriend. Daryl was lanky and quiet, keeping to himself and his small group of rough friends. She'd been kind to him, and their friendship lasted a few months. Kelsey took his virginity on the derelict couch he slept on. He was shy and awkward, clumsy as he tried to pleasure her. Afterward, they drank cheap beer and she let him hold her. Daryl had thought they would be together, that she would dump the stupid jock whose child she would later have in senior year. When he asked her to prom, however, she made it clear that he was an experiment. A "bad boy" that was suitable for fucking, but would never make a partner. The last time he went home, he saw her restocking shelves at the Piggly Wiggly. Her long hair had become stringy and straw-like, and her blue eyeshadow marred her pretty features.

Daryl thought he might be serving the same purpose for Abby. She'd made it clear, just a casual fuck. He had thought he'd had enough of those for a lifetime, but he went through with it.

She seemed to enjoy it. Daryl was worried he'd hurt her. He wasn't big, not as big as Merle (as his brother loved to point out). Still, when he entered her and felt her tightness, he knew she must have been uncomfortable. After Kelsey, almost all the women he'd slept with were older, and most had pussies that had seen a lot of use. They were loud and demanding, and Daryl had learned quickly to avoid insults.

He had felt her coming, seen her back arch, and suppressed the sounds of her orgasm. That was more satisfaction than his own climax. Daryl wanted to press himself against her, to wrap his arm around her narrow waist and pull her in close. Not out of love or affection, he just wanted the connection. Merle would have laughed at that desire, it occurred to him. Merle's imaginary torments did not stop him. Abby didn't seem the type to cuddle and he still wanted to keep some distance between them. Kelsey was the only girl who'd let him touch her like that, and she had broken his young heart.

Daryl turned on his side, his back to her, and tried to sleep.


End file.
